Wants and Needs
by laureleaf
Summary: After the battle, there are things you want to do, and there are things you need to do. News must be shared, mistakes must be faced, and regrets must be put aside. The extended Winchester family tries to stay strong for each other after the unthinkable happens. Spoilers for season 13 finale and all the angst that implies.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Spoilers like _woah_ for the finale. Warnings for a little bit of swearing and a lotta bit of angst. Two chapters today because I missed posting yesterday, and another in the works for tomorrow. Reviews are love and keep me writing!

* * *

 _The thing with kids,_ Jody reflected _, is that they never call you with good news_.

Sam Winchester's name flashed urgently across her cell's screen. The last thing she'd heard was that Lucifer and Michael were back from the Apocalypse Universe, or Apocoverse as Dean had taken to calling it. Sam's message was either going to be really good or really bad. Winchesters never did anything by halves, after all. Jody tapped the little green icon with her thumb, her stomach tight with nervous anticipation.

"Jody."

Just that one syllable was enough to freeze the blood in her veins. There was only one thing that could make Sam sound like that. _Dear lord, not Dean_.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm here." She tried to interject as much comfort and support as she could into her words. Heaven knew Sam needed it right now, but of course he would never accept it. Damn Winchesters and their damn pride.

"Lucifer is dead," Sam intoned. It sounded more like _Sam_ was dead, and in a way, Jody reflected, that was true. One could be walking and talking and human and still dead in every way that mattered.

"That's good, that's great," she babbled with fake cheer. And it was. They'd been trying to gank that sonofabitch for almost ten years now. Killing the capital-D _Devil_ was a pretty big deal, even without taking the Winchester's personal history into account. Everything that had ever gone wrong in those boy's lives could be directly traced to that evil bastard and his scheming. Killing Lucifer was a _huge_ win. Monumental. Maybe the most impressive name on the Winchester's already astounding kill list. But at what cost?

"Dean…" Sam's voice broke, but he coughed to cover it up. "Dean said 'yes'."

"What?" Hope blossomed in Jody's chest. If Dean was talking, that meant he wasn't dead. Maybe Dean was still alive and she'd just totally mistaken Sam's hopeless tone for something much worse than understandable exhaustion.

"That's how he did it. Kill Lucifer, I mean. He… he said 'yes' to Michael."

That didn't make any sense at all. She'd read those cheesy Edlund books and she knew Dean. He'd never do such a thing, especially knowing what he knew now about possession and Michael and everything.

Sam let out a stifled gasp of pain, and Jody shoved all of her incredulity aside. Whatever was going on with Dean could wait.

"Sam, where are you?" she forced her voice to be calm. She knew those boys wouldn't admit to being hurt even if their guts were pooled around their ankles, so she didn't ask.

"I don't…" Sam took a shuddering breath. "I'll check my GPS once we hang up and text you the address. I'll probably just steal a car and head back to the Bunker."

"That's a good plan Sam," she encouraged. "Are you alone?" Hopefully not. The last thing Sam needed was to be alone at a time like this. The fact that he was talking to her and not his mother didn't bode well either.

"Jack's here with me," Sam took another one of those worryingly unsteady breaths. "He's a bit bloody, but he'll live."

"And you?" Jody pressed, not really expecting a straight answer, but her mom instincts forced her to ask anyway. "How are you, Sam?"

"I'm _fine_."

"Bullshit. Your brother was just hijacked by a genocidal archangel and Lucifer is dead. If you're fine, I'm Betty White," she snapped.

Sam let out a breath that was more of a sob than a laugh.

"Sam, let me help. Tell me what you need. Please." What Jody _wanted_ to do was to make him stay put until she could get there and take him home and patch up his hurts and wrap him in warm blankets and feed him wholesome food and let him cry on her shoulder. Even more than that, she wanted Dean to be safe and sound so she didn't have to do any of that, because taking care of Sam was Dean's job. But she only rarely got what she wanted.

"I need you to put out the word to the other hunters that Dean's… Michael… he can't be stopped," Sam finally said. His voice was all business, despite his hesitations. "Normal angel blades or wardings won't work on him. Nothing but another archangel can even slow him down. So tell our people to keep an eye out, but to stay away for their own safety. Same with your police contacts: I'm sure Dean's still in the system from way back when," Sam let out a depreciating huff. "We need to find him as fast as possible. The longer he..." Sam's teeth grinding was audible even through the connection. "We gotta find him."

"Yeah, Sam, I can do that," she tried to think of something encouraging to say that wouldn't sound trite. He was being so brave, putting other people's well-being before his own pain, and it was such a _Sam_ thing to do that it broke her heart. "You aren't alone in this," she finally decided on. "You got a lot of good people behind you. Let us take care of you while we figure out a way to get your brother home safe."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Thanks, Jody," Sam whispered before the line went dead. She stared at the phone with something approaching shock. Lucifer was dead and Dean was possessed by an archangel that wanted to destroy the world. Just another day in the office, right? She bit back an hysteric giggle.

 _Pull yourself together, Sheriff_ , she ordered herself sternly. _The Winchester boys need you._

Jody picked up the phone and started to dial. She had work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

_The thing with bad news_ , Castiel reflected, _is that there's just no good way to say it._

The garage door squeaked as Bobby and Mary returned to the Bunker. They were going to be in the all-but-empty main room in less than a minute. They would have questions, questions that Cas wasn't sure how to even begin to answer.

What was he going to tell them? The angel raked his hands through his hair, a human habit picked up from the Winchester brothers. He wasn't sure he had the strength to admit that, once again, he had failed so catastrophically that the very world might be forfeit. Of all the languages Castiel knew, none of them were quite capable of fully expressing the enormity of his negligence.

"Cas!" Mary's hands were on his face, his shoulders, looking for injuries. There weren't any. It felt wrong to have lost such an important battle without any wounds to signify his utter defeat.

"Cas, where are they?" There was a hint of panic in her voice. Castiel could tell that she feared for her children's lives. How was he supposed to tell her that death was preferable to what they were currently enduring? Sam was once again at the mercy of Lucifer's unbridled wrath, Jack was suffering from having his grace torn from him, and Dean…

Castiel was intimately familiar with possession. He knew exactly what it meant to say 'yes' to an archangel. He knew what sort of power that simple word of consent gave the possessor, and what kind of toll it took, mentally, physically, and spiritually, on the possessee. He knew _exactly_ what it felt like to have your body's control ripped away by a being infinitely more powerful than yourself, to be helpless in your own skin as your hands destroyed everything you held most dear. He knew how impossible it was to even endure such a violation, much less manage to gather the enormous strength it took to wrest control from your abuser for even a moment.

"Cas? What happened?" Mary begged. He owed it to her to explain. She was Dean's mother: she should hear it from someone who cared, someone who understood. She had promised her son that angels were watching over him, and Castiel was that guardian angel. A terrible one, but one nevertheless. He had failed Dean, _again_ , and in doing so had failed her. _Again_. She deserved to know that. He opened his mouth to voice his own condemnation, but the words wouldn't come. Or rather, he opened Jimmy Novak's mouth, and almost vomited because of the reviling revelation that he was no better than the monster currently desecrating Dean's body even now. Angels were parasites, unable to live in this world without utterly destroying the very beings they were designed to protect.

He was startled from his self-flagellation by Sam's voice whispering through his head. " _Cas? I'm not sure you're still listening to Angel Radio, but if you are… Michael won and Lucifer is dead and Dean… Dean lost."_ Cas winced as Sam bit back a strangled sob. " _Jack and I are headed back to the Bunker. Call in Rowena and Charlie and Ketch and all the others. Take care of Mom."_

Castiel bowed his head. Thankfully Lucifer was dead at last, but at what cost? And how was he supposed to take care of Mary when he was still reeling?

"Cas, you're scaring me," Mary whispered. Her hand brushed gently across his cheek. Cas pulled away. He didn't deserve her care, her love. Not after what he'd done to her sons. He was surprised to see her fingertips glisten with tears when he opened his eyes.

"Sam and Jack are alive," Cas forced the words past unwilling lips. He had to be strong. Strong like Dean was... _is_ always strong. If he'd learned nothing else from the Winchesters, it was how to keep playing through the pain. "They're returning to the Bunker as we speak. Lucifer is dead." Mary's shoulders slumped with relief as she processed the good news.

"That's great and all, and we can throw a party later, but where'd they go that they need returnin' from? And what about Dean? What aren't you tellin' us, boy?" Bobby snapped. Cas almost smiled. It was such a _Bobby_ thing to say that he could almost forget that this wasn't _their_ Bobby. _Their_ Bobby was dead, killed by the monsters Castiel had unleashed in his hubris. Yet another failure on his very long and horrifyingly impressive list of failures.

"Lucifer took Sam and Jack," he croaked out the words with a throat that was too tight. "I don't know where, and we couldn't follow," Cas twisted his hands together. He felt the loss of his wings acutely. If he'd been able to fly then maybe… but he couldn't. Not anymore, and he only had his own mistakes to blame for that. Castiel explained what had happened during the brief fight: Michael's vessel damaged beyond repair, Jack's grace taken, Dean left desperate for any way to save his brother.

"Michael needed a new vessel if he was to have a chance at killing Lucifer," his voice sounded ragged even to his own ears. "Dean needed a way to save Sam and Jack. So he said 'yes'."

After _everything_ , despite _everything_ , regardless of _everything_ , Dean had said 'yes'. For all their talk of free will, there were apparently some fates that even Winchesters couldn't escape. They could only be delayed, and maybe sometimes that was enough. What that meant for Castiel, who had sacrificed _everything_ to keep this very thing from happening was anyone's guess.

"Dean is possessed by Michael?" Mary said slowly, desperately trying to understand. "But doesn't Michael…"

"Want to destroy the planet? _Again_ ," Bobby growled. "That ijit."

"We can fix this, right?" Mary looked at Castiel, hope fragile in her eyes. "Sam and Jack are alive and we can fix this together, right?"

Cas knew this cue. This was when Dean would smile disarmingly and clap them on the back and promise them the impossible.

He wasn't Dean though. Dean was gone, quite probably forever. Cas wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes and fall back into the oblivion of the Empty. But Sam had asked him to take care of his mother, and Castiel couldn't bear the thought of one more failure. Not today.

"We'll figure it out," he spoke the well-worn promise with what little confidence he could muster. "We always do."


	3. Chapter 3

_The thing with injuries,_ Mary reflected, _is that the worst ones are rarely physical._

Sam stood in front of her, head bowed. She'd seen him stumble on the stairs coming from the garage, and it had been all she could do not to rush to his side to help. She didn't know her boys as well as she would like, but she did know that they didn't appreciate coddling when they were hurt.

And if he was feeling even half of what she was (although it was almost certain he was feeling at least twice as much) then, oh, was Sam _hurting_.

"I'm sorry Mom," he whispered, ashamed. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't…"

"Shhh," she put a finger to his lips. Only Sam could return from killing Satan himself and apologize. "It's okay."

It wasn't, of course. He knew it and she knew it. It wasn't going to be okay for a very long time, if ever.

Mary folded her son into her arms anyway, and held on tight despite his reluctance. How had he gotten so tall? It wasn't her genes, to be sure. Sam gripped her in a sort of perfunctory way before letting go.

"We need to… to find him," Sam gulped. "As fast as possible. The longer he… it gets harder. To expel the angel, that is." Her tallest son raked a hand through his hair and failed to suppress a shudder. "What was he thinking?" he muttered under his breath.

They both knew the answer to that question, of course.

"I'll check the Bunker computer, maybe we can…" Sam stumbled again, and this time Mary caught him on the way down and guided his fall into the nearest chair. Damn, but he was _heavy_. And all elbows and knees too. He would have been hilarious as a gangly teenager, and even the threat of angst and moodiness wasn't enough to make her regret missing seeing _that._

"Cas!" she called urgently. Sam tried getting back to his feet, but she placed a hand on his chest and forced him back down. She didn't miss his wince of pain.

" _Mom_ , I need to…"

"You _need_ to let Cas patch you up before you hurt yourself worse," Mary interjected. "Every inch of you I can see is turning black and blue, and I know you haven't slept in too damn long. So _sit."_ Sam shut his mouth with a sharp _click_ and sat. Good to know that her 'mom voice' was still working, even if it was thirty years unused.

Castiel was there a moment later, and moments after that the bruises purpling Sam's face were gone. But the angel's fingers lingered on her son's forehead for longer than was necessary.

"What's the matter?" she asked, worried. She wasn't sure she could handle any more bad news today, especially concerning her boys.

"Sam? What happened?" Castiel questioned instead of answering her.

"Lucifer tossed me around a bit, nothing new," Sam gruffly batted away the angel's hand.

"You're not telling the whole truth," the Cas tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Sam didn't quite squirm under the scrutiny, but it was clear he was thinking about it.

"I'm _fine_."

"Winchester 'fine' is not 'fine'," Castiel shot back.

"I. Am. Fine." Sam growled, fists clenching. "We need to focus on finding Dean, before…" he shook his head, squared his jaw, and abruptly stood. He brushed past Mary and Cas like they weren't even there.

"What's wrong with him, Cas?" Mary pressed once her son's footsteps had faded down the hallway.

"I don't know," the angel said helplessly. "But it isn't good."

* * *

Mary found Sam four hours later, snoring quietly on the desk in his bedroom with a book under his cheek. He looked so much younger when he was asleep. She could easily imagine him looking like that at Stanford, pulling an all-nighter at the library to study for an exam. At least, until she saw the tears trailing down his face and soaking into the pages beneath his head.

"Sam?"

She knew better than to try and touch him: hunters woke up swinging. The lights were already on, so they wouldn't be of any use in jarring him awake.

"Sam!" she tried again, louder. Her son's shoulders started to tremble slightly.

" _SAM!"_ she practically screamed, and his eyes finally flew open. She was glad she was standing back a pace, because in true hunter fashion Sam came to in a flurry of limbs. The chair he was sitting on overbalanced and dumped him on the floor. Mary leaned over to help him back up.

"Don't," Sam whimpered. Mary paused momentarily before reaching out again.

"Please," he backpedaled until his back met the wall with a muffled thump. "Not with her face."

That stopped her cold in her tracks. What was going on?

"Sam, honey, you're still dreaming a little bit. Wake up now. You're safe in the Bunker," she tried.

"Dean?" he gasped with breathless hope.

"No Sam, Dean's not here right now," she almost choked on the words. "But I'm here Sammy."

"Mom?" Sam whispered. "But you can't… you're not…" he shook his head in confusion.

Mary tried to edge closer, but Sam just pulled himself into an even tighter ball. His fear of her cut her deep inside. She was his mother, the person he should flee to when he was afraid, not someone he should be scared of.

"You're safe," she tried again. "You had a nightmare, but you're safe now." Mary wanted to wrap her son in her arms and just hold on until everything was better. But that's not what Sam needed right now. Her words seemed so inadequate, but they were all she could do.

Sam took a shuddering breath, and then another. He tipped his head back to stare at the slowly spinning fan above them.

"Just a dream," he shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm out," he said to himself, digging his thumb into his palm. It was a motion Mary had seen a few times before when Sam was particularly stressed.

"Sam?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm awake," Sam gave her a rueful smile. "Sorry if I…"

"Don't you dare apologize to me for this," Mary interrupted firmly. She walked over a few steps and sat down beside Sam against the wall. It was a tight fit, but that was fine by her. He rubbed a hand over his face, and Mary was shocked to see red on his thumb. She quickly snatched his hand and pulled it into her lap. His thumbnail had gouged so deeply into his palm that he'd drawn blood. Sam tried to pull his hand back, but Mary held on.

"Why do you do this?" she asked softly as she watched the shallow cut start to clot on its own. There were faint scars from where the same thing had happened before, as well as a long jagged line that bisected his palm. The sight made her furious. "Are there not enough things trying to hurt you that you have to hurt yourself as well?"

"It's not like that Mom," Sam's shoulders slumped.

"Then explain it to me," she snapped back. Her son was silent for a long moment. His free hand rubbed his sternum like it ached.

"Remember what I told you about Hell, and getting back my soul, and the Wall?" Sam started. She nodded. It had been a difficult discussion for everyone involved, and she had no desire to repeat it. "Well, after it crumbled I… hallucinated. A lot," he bit his lip and closed his eyes. Only Sam would come back from Hell and feel ashamed about having PTSD from it. Mary leaned into his shoulder to try and comfort him.

"Dean's the one that figured it out," Sam rubbed his chest again with a wince. "Hell pain is different, because it affects your soul," he tried to explain. "It feels different than normal pain. It's difficult to describe how, but it's true. I'd sliced open my hand," he traced the long scar on his palm, "and Dean showed me how to use that pain to figure out what was real and what wasn't. After Cas fixed things, I didn't really need the reminder anymore, but I guess it's just a nervous tic now."

How had things gotten so messed up that her baby boy didn't know what reality was unless he was in pain? Mary cupped her son's cheek and tried not to cry. She was supposed to be comforting him, not the other way around.

"So the nightmare?" she asked gently. "Do you want to talk about it?" Mary didn't really want to hear about even more things that had hurt her boys because her Deal had drug them back into hunting. But if that's what Sam needed, then she would be there for him.

"Not really," Sam sighed. "It's not something that fits well into words, especially if you haven't… you couldn't understand, and I would never want you to."

She'd heard that excuse before, from another traumatized man who woke up from nightmares swinging. But John had been to Vietnam, not Hell. Although at the time he would have joked that Hell was more pleasant this time of year.

Mary told her son what she'd told her husband. "I don't need to understand to listen. If you want to talk, I'm always here."

Sam smiled sadly. "Thanks," he broke into a huge yawn mid-sentence, "Mom."

"You should try and get some actual rest," Mary nudged his shoulder. "In a bed. Besides, I can't stay on this floor forever. I'm older than I look, you know."

Mary was rewarded with a short laugh as they helped each other to their feet. When Sam made no move to lie down, Mary pulled down the covers and held them up for him to slip under.

"I'm not a kid, Mom," he pointed out, not unkindly.

"That's not the point," she shook the sheets insistently. When he hesitated, she added. "Please let me do this? I need to know that at least one of my boys is ok right now." It was a dirty move, especially with the liberal application of the puppy eyes he'd inherited from her, but it did the trick. Sam slipped into his bed and let her tuck the sheets around him without complaint. She turned down the lamp before sitting on the edge of his bed and bending over to give him a kiss on his forehead. Adult or not, he was still her darling boy, and she loved him more than anything. Sam just leaned into her touch for a moment before grunting softly in pain. He shifted to rub his sternum again.

"Sam?" she asked. He was silent for a long moment, long enough that she thought he wasn't going to answer.

"I think Lucifer did something during the fight," he finally admitted, not meeting her eyes. "Feels like a Hell wound. It's better than it was, but…."

"But it's messing with your perception of reality," Mary hazarded a guess.

"Exactly," Sam looked relieved that he didn't have to spell it out to her. "It's not that bad, really. I've lived through far worse."

Another excuse she'd heard one too many times from a stubborn Winchester.

"That doesn't mean you have to live through it now. So how can I help?" She desperately wanted to make him feel better, but this wasn't some scraped knee she could just cure with a bandaid and a kiss.

"You already are," Sam gave her a tired smile. "More than you know. Just by being here."

Mary smiled in return. "Then I'm not going anywhere." Carefully, she placed a hand on Sam's head and stroked his temple gently with her thumb. His hair had more of John's coloring, but the texture was all hers. His long hair drove Dean nuts, she knew, but it suited Sam. It was still a little strange to her: Sam had still been baby-bald when she'd died. As his breathing started to slow, she found herself humming under her breath. She stroked his hair gently, savoring the _mom_ moment that she'd been denied when he was younger.

"Dean used to do that," Sam whispered long after she'd thought him asleep. "When I was little and had a nightmare. He'd put his hand on my head and sing _Hey Jude_ until I fell back asleep."

"That's what I used to do for him," Mary bit her lip. Clearly Dean had copied her technique because she hadn't been around to comfort Sam herself. Mary knew that her death had made them both grow up far too fast, but it was little details like this that really drove home how much they'd lost, how much she'd cost them. Every time she thought it couldn't hurt any worse, she'd learn some new fact that would rip open that wound afresh.

"Sometimes I'd imagine he was you," Sam continued. "It was hard: Dean's not a very good singer. But I wanted a mom so badly…"

It felt like someone had stabbed her in the chest and was slowly twisting the knife. She wanted to just curl up and die again so she didn't have to bear witness to the destruction she'd caused in her son's lives. But Sam needed her to be strong right now. It was so rare that he let himself be weak.

"I'm here now," Mary tucked his hair behind his ear. "And we'll get Dean back too."

"I know," Sam said quietly. "I know."

* * *

A/N: Sorry this last chapter took so long; I rewrote it like four times before I found the right story and the right POV to tell it from.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are the fuel that keeps me writing through the hellatus.


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